<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Emotions by Lisa Martin (LisaM)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842753">Emotions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisaM/pseuds/Lisa%20Martin'>Lisa Martin (LisaM)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:07:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisaM/pseuds/Lisa%20Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Xander Harris/Spike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Emotions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bitterness</p>
<p>I hate bloody summers. Too warm and oppressing. Standing against the cemetery wall, I light up a cigarette. Bloody hypocrites. Inhaling the burning smoke, I feel bitterness rise. Just can’t seem to find it, can I? Every time some meddling fool has to take it away from me. Lost it, again. It was good, so good. Better than anything I could imagine, better than I deserve. Fuck them all! This time they will get a real fight on their hands. Thought the Big Bad was bad? They haven’t seen anything yet. I push myself from the wall and head back. </p>
<p>Anger</p>
<p>The sound of angry voices drifts towards me but I don’t hear the voice that matters. I wait outside the door and listen. High pitched screams about how disgusting this is, a lower voice droning on about the consequences. Fuckers. Pushing the door open I storm inside. A deadly silence follows, eyes staring at me. I see the disgust, the hate, but I don’t care. They can hate me, won’t lose sleep over it. They aren’t allowed to hate him because of me. I open my mouth to give them hell, but he beats me to it. “Go, just go.” </p>
<p>Pain</p>
<p>He told me to leave. My initial anger has drained, I only feel pain. This is worse than the soul, worse than the chip. My heart is breaking. I don’t know where I am, everywhere is darkness. Hell, welcome me in. No other place to go. The Hellmouth, that’s where I need to go. Open the bloody thing up and throw myself in it. So what ‘end of the world’? It’s my end of the world and if others get dragged along so be it. Stumbling into the High School, I blindly find my way.  It’s there, it’s calling to me. </p>
<p>Resignation</p>
<p>Here I am, sitting on top of the Hellmouth. It sounded so good, open it up and dive in. Now I realise I’m not going to, I don’t deserve a quick final death. Instead I turn to thinking. Not brooding! This is a test to see if I can survive with this pesky soul. The demon fights to survive and in the end it wins. I will go on, but far away from here. No more fighting forces I can’t beat. Away from the eternal darkness, find the light elsewhere. The demon protests, no light, but I ignore its whining. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Surprise</p>
<p>A voice, soft and gentle. Unexpected and unwanted. I try to shut it out, but the words call out to me. Telling me I should go back, have to go back. Why? Because he needs me. He doesn’t, he sent me away. It was panic, the voice tells me. A warning follows. Don’t use him the way I used you. No, it’s not a warning, it’s concern. “I won’t,” I whisper. Ever. Words never spoken I utter then. “I love him.” A hand on my face, gently wiping away the tears I wasn’t aware I shed. “Then tell him that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Determination</p>
<p>I stalk through town and curse the rain that obscures my sight. No time to waste, need to go there quickly. Doubts crowd my brain. Grimly, I tell those doubts to shove it, I have no use for them anymore. Love isn’t rational, it’s instinct, it’s like blood. Life force. One I need desperately. Damn that rain! I am there and suddenly my resolve falters. Should I go in? What will I find? At these times it’s good to have a demon inside me. It gives me a thorough kick in the arse and I am in the building. Knock. </p>
<p>Shame</p>
<p>There is no answer to my pounding on the door. Giving the door a push I notice it’s open and I look inside. Darkness. Oppressive, gut wrenching darkness. I hear breathing, shallow, panting breaths. I smell salt. Tears. He’s crying. Crossing the room to where he sits, I sink to my knees in front of him. Not touching, I don’t dare to. I caused this distress and that denies me the right to touch him. So I wait. Wait for him to say or do something. My eyes are closed, my head hung low and I am eaten by shame. </p>
<p>Relief</p>
<p>A touch, so soft. Fingers trailing along my face, ending on my chin and lifting my head up. Brown eyes full of warmth, full of love. “You came back.” Needed to, can’t go on otherwise. Need to know if I am allowed to come back. “Sorry I told you to go. Panicked.” A weight lifts from my shoulders. “Don’t cry.” I’m not the one who is crying, he is. “No, you are crying.” I said that out loud, didn’t I? I touch my face. Wet. “It rains,” I tell him. <br/>“Sure.” Was that laughter? It was.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>